Someone to Want You
by Foureyed-Pufferfish
Summary: You're never as alone as you think; it just took a little longer for Ratchet to realize that.  Can be taken as R/C but intended as friendship.


Someone to Want You

**A Ratchet and Clank Fanfiction**

Wind gushed about the house, rattling the shingles and blowing loose windows wide. With a whimper the boy pulled himself further under the covers. A nearby lightning strike shook the house, causing him to jump. Flinging the covers aside, he ran. A small ragged blanket hung, caught on a large ear, draped over his head. As he tore down the hallways firm arms caught him by the waist. The blanket fell over the child's face, obscuring his view of his captor. He struggled meekly against the unfamiliar grasp.

A rumbling laugh filled his sensitive ears. "Fighter, this one." The child halted his struggles as the blanket was pulled from his eyes. "You're quite strong, Kiddo. What's your name?" The child simply stared up at the man, green eyes wide.

"That's Ratchet." Both glanced up, seeing a robotic caretaker walking down the hall towards them. "He's not much of a talker."

"Ratchet, eh?" The boy nodded, his large ears perking up at his name. Suddenly a flash illuminated the hall, followed by a thunderous bang. Ratchet yelped, burying his face in the man's jacket. The man chuckled. "Just a storm, Kiddo, nothing to be afraid of." The Lombax shook his head, his face still buried in the man's chest.

"Come, Ratchet," The robot made to lift the boy from the man's arms, "let's let Mr. Nileem get back to his work."

"Work?" Ratchet mumbled, letting himself be handed to the caretaker.

"Last night's storm took out a few power relays. I'm here to replace 'em." He scratched his head idly. "Though I'm a little worried with how close this thunder storm is coming."

Ratchet tugged on the robot's shoulder platting, letting her know he wanted to be put down. "Can I watch?"

"Manners, Ratchet," The caretaker scolded.

"Sorry," the boy rocked back and forth on his heals, "May I please watch?" The man gaffed, grinning down at the child.

"I don't know, how old are you?" Ratchet counted on his fingers for a moment.

"Five," he held out four fingers. At the man's grin he recounted, popping another finger into the air as if nothing was amiss.

"Five, eh? I'd say that's old enough to even help." The resulting smile was all the reward the man ever needed.

* * *

><p>For nearly two years, Nileem served as West Hill Orphanage's only repair man. On many occasions, however, he visited simply to entertain his newest friend, a young, enthusiastic Lombax.<p>

At age seven Ratchet was transferred to St. John's Home for Boys, as West Hill was forced to close. Nileem desperately missed his young apprentice, but had almost no way to visit, as his new home was across the continent. He sent letters, but as is natural, eventually the letters slowed to a trickle and finally stopped. To a young boy, however, it was as if he had been rejected yet again, loosing his only friend.

* * *

><p>"Ratchet!" Mary yelled up the stairs, a child in one arm and a bottle in the other. "Ratchet! Hurry up! You're going to be late!"<p>

"I'm coming!" The Lombax called down, hopping about as he pulled on clean socks. Once his boots where strapped he bolted down the stairs. "Wish me luck, Ms. Mary!" He shouted as he passed her.

"Good luck." She began bouncing the crying baby in her arms, "And straiten your shirt." Ratchet glanced down to confirm that his shirt was, indeed, askew. As he rounded the corner he slammed into an unexpected surface.

"Sorry, Sorry," he mumbled, distracted, as he helped the woman off the ground. She dusted herself off and stood over the boy.

"Sorry," he repeated, cowering under her gaze, "I didn't see you there."

"Perfectly fine." She gave him an almost gentle stare, but it seemed to be a challenge for her features. "I seem to be lost, could you show me to the conference room?"

"You're Ms. Miller?" She nodded. "I was just heading there myself. I'm Ratchet."

"Are you? They didn't tell me the adoption candidate was a Lombax." As she spoke a nervous man rounded the corner. He stood a good foot shorter than his wife.

"Is that a problem?" Ratchet gestured to the conference room door, closing it behind him, once he law the Millers inside.

"No." Her tone was unconvincing, "just unexpected." For a moment they all sat in silence. The Lombax tapped his clawed finger against the table in an awkward attempt to fill the silence.

"Do you have any hobbies, Ratchet?" Ms. Miller spoke up.

For a moment Ratchet simply stared. He had been through his fair share of adoption interviews before but not had ever been this unenthusiastic.

"Yeah," he mumbled, with no small amount of uncertainty, "I fix up robots and build machinery in my spare time."

"A mechanic?" Ratchet nodded, "So young?"

"I was apprentice to a master mechanic at West Hill." Ms. Miller hummed her agreement, having heard of the orphanage before.

"So," it was her husband's turn to speak, "you're a Lombax?" Ratchet sighed, he never thought it was possible to feel so conscious of his species. "I thought the Lombaxes had gone extinct in the Great War."

"Obviously not." He absently wiggled his ears, using the feeling to distract himself.

"You're thirteen, right?"

"Fourteen," Ratchet corrected.

"So old, and still not yet adopted." The woman forced down a sneeze, "What's so wrong with you that no one wants you?" Ratchet sat for a long moment, stunned.

"Thank you for your consideration," Ratchet stood, pushing his chair in, "But I don't think this is going to work out." With that he walked out, shutting the door behind him.

"No luck?" Mary's voice startled him, "that was your shortest one yet."

"Hmmm." Ratchet pushed past her, his orange stripped ears pressed flat against his head, and his tail swaying back and forth in aggravation. Mary simply let him go, wincing as he slammed his bedroom door.

After a long hour, Mary chanced checking on her charge. Upon the bed sat Ratchet, a mess of nuts and bolts littered the covers. It seemed that he had attempted to build something but had instead produced a mound of parts, even including his wrench in what looked like some form of modern art.

"Is it because I'm a Lombax?" His head remained bowed, never looking up. Mary sat beside him, clearing off a section of the covers as she did so.

"No, honey," she patted his back, "It's not who you are or anything you've done."

"Then why?" She paused for a long moment, attempting to find the proper wording.

"The right people just haven't come along yet, that's all." She rubbed his back, stopping when his hackles rose. The boy never was one for physical contact, not since he had come to St. John's anyway. "You just have to keep looking."

He moved a few inches away from her, beginning to dismantle his pile of tools and parts. "I've been looking for fourteen years. Every Velarian I've ever known has gotten adopted the first interview they have, and I've only ever once been called back for a home visit." His voice trembled ever so slightly.

"This is Veldin, Ratchet. Most families come here looking for a Velarian."

"So it is that I'm a Lombax." Mary shook her head, realizing he was simply looking for a fight.

"No, Ratchet, it's not." He stood, facing her with clinched fists.

"Then what is it!" His shout echoed about the room. "Why does not body want me!" The caretaker sat silent for a moment, her fur standing up from the sudden outburst. "Mary? Why?" His voice dropped out of audibility, "Why?"

Solemnly Mary watched him sink to the floor, his hands cupped around his face.

"Someday." She breathed, "Someday."

* * *

><p>At the age of sixteen Ratchet left the orphanage, taking up residence in an old garage. It was there that he met a Robot that would change his life. Ratchet and Clank's exploits where known galaxy wide by the time he reached eighteen, and universally by twenty. Even several other dimensions had heard his name.<p>

His fame earned his a stable income, a good apartment, and thousands of adoring fans. But still in Ratchet's mind his was the same lonely orphan that he had been all those years ago.

* * *

><p>"Ratchet?" Clank's metallic voice rang throughout the room, penetrating the silence. "I have been thinking."<p>

Ratchet set aside his holo-novel, raising a brow, "Oh yeah?" He waited as the robot pulled himself up on the couch to sit beside the Lombax. "'bout what?"

"Well," Clank leaned causally against the back cushions, "I realized that you have known me my whole life, but I know so little about how you grew up." Ratchet looked away, his eyes straying to the floor. He gave a harsh, unconvincing laugh, as if trying to brush off the uncomfortable question. "If you do not wish discuss the subject, we do not have to." Ratchet batted the notion aside.

"No, no. It's fine. Let's see…" he placed his hands in his lap, leaning forward on his elbows. "I grew up at West Hill till I moved to St. John's. Nothing all that exciting ever happened till I met you." He shrugged casually.

"I do not understand," Clank spoke in his usual monotone way. "What is 'West Hill' and 'St. John's'?" Ratchet sighed, having hopped he had avoided the subject.

"Orphanages on Veldin," Clank nodded, not surprised, having already known that Ratchet lacked a family.

"Did you ever try for adoption?" Ever blunt, Clank never even considered the implications of his questioning, taking Ratchet's fidgeting to mean that his was simply trying to find a more comfortable position.

"'course," Ratchet breathed, looking down once more, "but no one ever wanted me."

"That is _not_ true," Ratchet glanced up, Clank's tone surprisingly strong. The robot picked himself up, balancing on the couch cushions and making his way to his best friend. He placed a metal hand upon Ratchet's knee. The Lombax place his own hand over the robot's, finding the touch comforting. With wide eyes Clank meet Ratchet's curious green ones.

"Clank…?" Ratchet stared, silently bewildered. He had never seen such sincerity in any creature before, robot or organic. The words Clank breathed warped about his heat like a bandage, pealing away the old scars and letting in the light.

"I will always want you." And with all his soul, Ratchet knew now that what Mary had spoken of all those years ago was true. Someday, someone, though not admittedly the someone he had expected, did want him, did care. And they cared very much.

And for the first time in a very long time, Ratchet cared too.

* * *

><p>20 September 2011<p> 


End file.
